Ten Dark Tales of Mystery & Suspense

By Craig Enger

Inspired by and in the tradition of classic authors like Arthur Conan Doyle and Edgar Allan Poe, TEN DARK TALES is a dazzling collection of short stories. Ten gripping tales of mystery and suspense.

Starting with four brilliant mysteries filled with twists and murder, noir and adventure, the next three tales lead further into realms of imagination, and the final three add sharp and palpable tension, with hints of myth and magic.

TEN DARK TALES is sure to widen your eyes and stretch your imagination. One by one, inevitably the screws are tightened…and with each turn comes spine-tingling surprises…

Intricate plots and vivid atmospheres abound, harkening back to those great authors while blending classic with contemporary style.

Highly engaging, the stories cover an amazing range of subjects: stolen priceless jewels; a locked room high-tech museum break-in; a couple sailing through a Caribbean storm in search of lost treasure; a Valentine's Day romance like no other; an evening of classical music with a haunting violin solo; two publishers uncovering an ancient manuscript; a city night and a man confronted by an old pianist on his way to the theater; a real estate tycoon encountering a mysterious girl in the forest; two Eighteenth century hunters finding a hidden valley in the wilderness; and a package…Special Delivery, right to your doorstep.

TEN DARK TALES is your entry point into not just one, but several stunning worlds. A noteworthy collection, it is certain to be widely read and talked about by lovers of the genre and new readers, enjoyed for years to come.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543930979

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MEADOW PRESS

This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and fictitious. Any real places, objects, elements are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2018 by Craig Enger

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

Manufactured in the United States of America

Library of Congress

Print ISBN: 978-1-54393-096-2

eBook ISBN: 978-1-54393-097-9

TEN DARK TALES

Introduction

Under Whitest Moon

I.

TWISTS AND TURNS ...AND MURDER

THE JEWEL THIEF

SECRET OF THE COVE

VALENTINE’S MURDER

THE BLACK DIAMOND

II.

MYSTERIOUS ENCOUNTERS

THE VIOLIN SOLO

THE VAUDEVILLIAN

THE MANUSCRIPT

III.

FANTASTIC REALMS

THE DRYAD

THE MOUNTAIN MEN

SPECIAL DELIVERY

Introduction

This collection of ten stories is my homage to the classic mystery and suspense writers, Arthur Conan Doyle, H.G. Wells, Edgar Allan Poe, and Robert Louis Stevenson. The opening four stories present sound mysteries filled with twists and murder, noir, and adventure. The second set of stories takes the reader further into realms of imagination. The third and closing set offers sharp and palpable tension.

Dreams, imagination, youthfulness: these are each wonderful aspects of our limitless human minds. As Shakespeare said, To sleep, perchance to dream…. Hoping toward dream. And we can dream. We can imagine. We can travel to other worlds in our minds, without limits. And in some of those worlds lies the unexpected….

Under Whitest Moon

In darkest darkness, under whitest moon

Amid the shadows and the gloom

A faint sound in the drifting mist

A distant bell that silver chimes

To send a chill through nerves and spine,

’Round your shoulder, do not dare look

But dare to read the pleasures of terror in a book.

Sit in silence, cast eyes upon page

As the low, dim lamplight glows and fades

To the worlds conjured in thy mind….

Now, feel the touch of the serpent’s scales,

Find ancient halls of kingdoms lost,

Search the face concealed behind the veil,

See upon black seas, the black ship sails.

…Enter the realm of Ten Dark Tales.

TWISTS AND TURNS

...AND MURDER

THE JEWEL THIEF

Tonight was it.

Raising the binoculars to my eyes, I peered through the lenses and scanned the scene across the street, scoping the place out one last time, just to be sure. The street was deserted, no pedestrians. I held my position, keeping low and well hidden, waiting for my target to arrive.

It was dusk; soon it would be dark. Minutes ticked past. I could hear the sound of cars a few blocks away, but here there was no traffic; here it was quiet. Peering through the binoculars, I trained my sight on the townhouse across the way, bringing it into focus. The property was not new. It was one of the old brownstones, with a dark red front door. Leading up to it was a narrow, stone walkway flanked by high, neatly trimmed bushes and five stone steps. Better yet, the address was a couple of blocks off the main street. No street lamps.

Darkness falling, the air was brisk. A chill wind slipped past, and I shrugged my shoulders and turned up the collar of my leather jacket. I slipped on my black gloves, not only to keep my hands warm as I waited, but also because I needed to be careful. I didn’t want to leave any fingerprints.

It sounds strange, but I’ve only been caught once, a few years ago for petty theft, when I had to do a stint of time. The thing is: I learned a lot of tricks of the trade from other guys when I was in. So now, I don’t want to brag, but I’ve got some skills as a thief. Haven’t been caught since. I knocked off a couple of stores, but I mostly avoid any place that’s got cameras, which is hard, because cameras are almost everywhere now. The whole damn world is on videotape, or digitized.

Finding places to hit without being recorded these days is hard. So I’ve turned more to breaking into people’s homes; it’s surprising how many are still without security systems. Occasionally I’ve had to resort to holding people up, stealing their wallets and pocketbooks, things like that. It’s not hard to do, especially ’cause I carry a gun, a GLOCK 9 millimeter. Powerful weapon. I’ve never had to use it. I just grip it in my hand and point it at them, and the targets just hold up their hands, panic. The targets always give in, but I mean, if I ever had to fire the gun it would do the trick, blow a person’s head off.

Most of the jobs I pulled were easy money, but small change.

Then I happened to rent an apartment on the fifth floor in the building behind me, back there, with a view out over this street. I rented it after I’d pulled a job, made a bit of green, and needed to keep a low profile for a while. Mostly I kept out of sight, just going out to the store to get groceries or a twelve-pack of beer. Or sometimes if I was feeling a bit stir crazy I’d take a walk around the neighborhood. Maybe it was sheer luck, but I think I must have natural instincts as a thief, or maybe I’ve just been doing it long enough, because I started to notice one of the neighbors, and knew I’d found my next target.

Right away I checked out of that apartment and moved to another place across town. I couldn’t live in the same proximity of the target; I couldn’t be seen to have any possible association with her. I needed distance. So I found another place about an hour away.

Only, I returned here discreetly to keep surveillance on the target. It helps to know their habits, their daily routines. And I waited. And I planned. Until I was sure I could pull it off. Until tonight.

All those other jobs, those were small change. This…this was big.

I glanced at my wristwatch. Seven o’clock. The sun was gone, night had fallen. The street was dark, the shadows deepening.

And there she was, right on schedule.

Target acquired.

In fact, I had heard the footsteps approaching from the end of the block, then watched as she had appeared from around the corner. She turned and started walking in my direction, down the sidewalk, toward her expensive townhouse. She moved slowly, plodding along with short steps. Her shoes were brown leather with short, thick heels, and her feet were slightly pigeon-toed.

But I waited patiently. Give her time. She was old, and her hair was silver. She wore a patterned dress that went out of fashion decades ago and a black shawl draped across her shoulders to keep warm. Her face was lined with wrinkles. It was slightly narrow and withdrawn, with dark rings under her deep-set eyes. To walk, she needed the aid of a metal cane, her shoulders hunched over, her bones frail. Probably, she was arthritic.

Sure, she was old, but she was by far the richest person I’d ever seen. She didn’t flaunt her wealth, so nobody realized it. Except me; and of course she didn’t yet know that I knew her secret.

She walked the final steps to her townhouse and started up the narrow walkway to the front door.

One final time, I looked around, up and down the street, to be certain nobody was watching. The coast was clear. I moved very fast and darted across the street. Just as the lady inserted the key and unlocked the door, I caught her. I came up behind her, fast. I pushed her through, and shut the door. Immediately, I turned the bolt lock.

She let out a fragile cry, Oh dear me! as she stumbled to the floor, and her shawl slipped from her shoulders.

Nice guy that I am, I helped the old lady to her feet. She kept quiet, didn’t say another word, because I was pointing the GLOCK at her.

All too easy!

Now, I just had to find the precious stones.

I grabbed the lady by the shoulder and led her from the entryway into the living room. For an old dame with a ton of money, she lived in a rather humble place. A stone fireplace stood across from furniture that looked as ancient as she was. An old rug stretched across the wooden floor, showing off a threadbare couch and three rickety wooden chairs. An old bureau stood along one wall, and a couple of faded paintings hung on the other walls. Even the air smelled a bit stale.

Anyways, I sat her down in one of the wooden chairs. I reached into the pocket of my jacket, and with the rope I’d brought with me and bound her feet and her wrists. Not that she could run away, given her old age, but still: I lashed her feet to the chair. I tied the knots tight, though not as tight as I would have tied them on someone half as ancient. Just secure enough that I knew she couldn’t get away.

As I finished and pulled tight the final knot, a high-pitched sound rose from outside: five quick bleeps. I raised my head as soon as I heard the noise. I knew it was a police siren. But it cut off right away, like a cop had accidentally hit the button for the siren and then switched it off. It freaked me out when I heard it, because I’d only just broken into this place. I felt sure no one had been watching when I broke in. So how could the cops know? How could they get here so fast? Unless maybe I was being set up. Silence. I listened more carefully, and I could hear a car approaching.

I turned to the old lady. Keep quiet, I whispered, raising a finger to my lips, and raising the gun in my hand to make sure she followed my instruction and kept her mouth shut.

Tiptoeing, I moved quickly across the floor, toward the window next to the front door. I kept low to make sure I wouldn’t be seen, then arose with my back against the wall, just beside the window.

My hand was steady, ready to fire the GLOCK at any moment.

I leaned over slowly, careful not to be seen, and turned to glance out the window.

From this position, I could see across the street, where a police cruiser had pulled up to the curb. On the sidewalk, the cop was talking to one of the neighbors across the street. I don’t know what they were talking about, but I knew it wasn’t about me, because they shook hands, and the cop was already returning to his car. Halfway there, he started hurrying; he must have received another call. Within a second, he was inside the car, the siren crying for real this time. The cop gunned the engine, and the cruiser went rolling past, the red and blue lights spinning into the night.

The sight of the cop…it scared the hell out of me. I could feel the adrenaline pumping in my veins, but now I knew I was clear. To be sure no one could see in through the window, I drew the curtains closed.

I turned back to the job at hand.

Time to get this over with.

The old lady was sitting in the wooden chair, right where I’d left her. As I returned, she raised her head. It was obvious she was frightened half to death. She sat there and looked at me with her gray-blue eyes.

I stopped and looked down at her, figuring the harsher I sounded, the quicker she’d tell.

All right. I know they are in here somewhere. Where do you hide ’em? In a safe?

I don’t know what you mean, she replied feebly, shaking her head.

Don’t play dumb, lady, I said with emphasis, and even raised my arm like I was making to strike the back of my hand across her face. I almost hit the old lady, too, because she hadn’t told me right away where she hid them. I almost hit her, and it’s like a cardinal sin to hit anyone over the age of, I don’t know, sixty. Can you believe it? Almost as bad as killing somebody. But I figured I had to make my point clear, prove to her I wasn’t kidding around. Then I demanded, You know exactly what I mean. Tell me. Where are the stones?

She remained silent. She cowered back in her seat and didn’t look at me directly. I could see her hands shaking with fear.

All right, let me ask you again, I continued. I’m gonna count to three.

I’m cold, she whimpered.

What?

I said, I’m cold. Would you mind? she asked. With her chin she indicated the place where her shawl had fallen to the floor when I had come barging in. I went over and picked it up, then returned and draped it across the back of her frail shoulders.

Thank you, she said quietly. That was kind of you, she added. She hunched her shoulders, covering herself better with the shawl to keep warm, and then she looked up at me. Her eyes were filled with disappointment and a tinge of disgust. Like I was doing something wrong. Which I was. Go on. You were saying?

It’s simple, I explained. I’m gonna count to three. And you’re gonna tell me where the jewels are.

Shaking her head once, she dropped her eyes, disappointed at me.

I was undeterred and started the count. One....

She didn’t speak. I was surprised that she resisted telling me, surprised by her resolve. But I could see she was shivering with nervousness and fright. It shouldn’t take much longer.

Two....

She raised her head and looked up at me with her pleading gray-blue eyes, And what are you planning to do? Kill me? Thieving is one thing, but think for a moment. Are you really going to commit murder?

Shut up.

Please. Think of what you are doing. Let us talk, you and I. Whatever has made you this way, tell me. I’ll listen, honestly I will.

There was something almost motherly in her tone.

Young man, listen to me. Please, listen. I’m not going to pretend I’m not frightened; I am. You’ve broken into my home. But you don’t have to do this. You have a choice. You can change your life....

She stopped talking when I pointed the GLOCK at her head.

Lady, shut up. You listen. Don’t lecture me about the error of my ways. Save your breath.

That scared her. Now she was cringing in her chair.

Please...! she persisted, and started to softly cry.

Spare me, I sneered sarcastically. I also started to feel the slightest reservation about choosing her as a target, thinking that maybe she might not be all there, given her old age. Like her mind might’ve started to go, if you know what I mean. Or, worse, maybe she was some crazy old hag and I’d accidentally stumbled into her creepy old house, the kind of thing that happens in all those B horror movies, the kind I used to watch as a kid.

She took a deep breath and seemed to regain her composure. Young man, if you fire that gun of yours, don’t you think someone’ll hear the shot?

The way she said it surprised me, and she went on. You don’t want to hurt me. Not really, not if you don’t have to. You see, you do have a choice. If you turn around and leave right now, quietly, then I’ll let you go. And I swear I won’t tell a soul. I won’t tell anyone what happened, that you tried to rob me. Just—oh dear, I don’t want to die.

She was trying to be strong in her way, but I could see it took a lot out of her, and she looked like she was about to start crying again.

Look, I said, I’m a thief. Just tell me where the jewels are. Then I’ll go.

You say you’re a thief. If you wanted to steal from me, why didn’t you wait and do it when I was out? Why didn’t you wait until the house was empty?

"Because we are talking jewels. The kind I know you don’t just leave lying around. No. You keep ’em locked up in a safe. I don’t know the combination to the safe. You do."

Actually, young man, I do not have a safe. Even if I did, you’re a thief, so can’t you just—what’s the term—‘crack’ it?

Oh, sure lady. You make it sound like it’s simple to do. Let me tell you. It isn’t. And besides, even if I cracked the combo, safes these days are all high tech. They’re wired with silent alarms. So even if I cracked it, the cops would be here in no time.

She sat and thought about this a moment, and remarked, I suppose you’re right, I don’t know. But suppose I had a safe, which I don’t, but suppose I did, yet I decided not to tell you the combination. What then? You’d shoot me dead with that…that gun of yours? Then you still wouldn’t have what you came for, would you? That doesn’t make any sense.

Sure it does, because you either open the safe yourself, or tell me the combo.

But what if I don’t?

Raising my hand, I waved the GLOCK to remind her, and chambered a round. When I hold this gun to your head, I think you will.

I guess if we’re going to be stuck in this predicament together, we ought to properly introduce ourselves. What’s your name? Do you have a name?

I just shook my head in disbelief. She must’ve really thought I was stupid. I could see right through that one; of course I didn’t say anything.

After a second, she nodded, Oh, I see. You can’t tell me, because you’re afraid if I know your name I might be able to give you over to the police. Well, anyways, I’m Ethel. Ethel Conway.

I looked back at the old lady, Ethel. Oh man, I almost had to laugh. Even her name was old.

Now it seemed she was on a roll, because she kept on talking. I’ve only ever seen crimes committed on the television shows, even though I don’t watch much. So how does it work in real life? I suppose you have someone on the lookout, in case anyone spotted you, called nine-one-one, and the cops arrive. An accomplice?

No.

I thought most criminals worked in gangs.

Depends on the job. Now shut up.

You mean, you planned this robbery all by yourself?

That question got to me…something in the way she’d asked it; so I snapped back, That’s right. Listen, you old hag. Stop sounding all condescending. Yeah, I planned it myself. My tone was harsh, and I had to point my gun at her again to quiet her down, even as I felt a